


Cards on the Table

by sheron



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Ben Grimm's Bachelor Party, Captain America (2018), Fandom Stocking 2018, Fantastic Four (2018), Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Romance, Tony Stark: Iron Man (2018), Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-12 01:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17458307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: Ben Grimm's bachelor party means that Steve and Tony get a chance to be just guys on a night out. It would be a fun evening of revelry and strip poker, if only Steve didn't have to fight his feelings for Tony at every turn. And if something else is charging the atmosphere between them, well, it might be the secret Tony is afraid of.





	Cards on the Table

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msermesth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msermesth/gifts).



> This is set during the bachelor party for Ben Grimm (The Thing) that takes place in the Fantastic Four #5 (2018) - Guys' Night Out. If you're not familiar with the events, I've collected [this set of panels](https://sheronwrites.tumblr.com/post/181439003764/ben-grimms-bachelor-party-fantastic-four-5) featuring Steve and Tony that are relevant from that issue. In terms of current canon, this takes place after and contains spoilers for the recent arc of Tony Stark - Iron Man (2018) through #6 and diverges after Captain America #2 (2018). 
> 
> Many thanks to magicasen for an excellent beta, and FreyaS for the idea for the title. This was written for Fandom Stocking 2018. It started out as a bit of fluff and...kept... going... 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support msermesth. I hope you enjoy the story!

 

Steve didn't know what was different about that day. Why Tony affected him more that day, in particular, when Steve bumped shoulders with him on Yancy Street, waiting for the rest of the invitees to Johnny's "Party Bus". Tony looked good, in his pristine dark suit and a bow-tie fastened inflexibly on his neck, underneath a starched white collar. But Tony always looked good to Steve, that was nothing new.

Weddings made him a little sentimental, true, but the actual wedding would take place the next day in Arizona and only close family was invited — to avoid any superhero shenanigans, Ben insisted — so they were gathering today for Ben's bachelor party. Nothing too emotionally heavy. Steve had no excuse for the quiet snag in his chest the moment he saw Tony, that little speed up of his heart at the sight of him, a long instant of aching longing, before Steve steadied himself, breathed out deep and moved to walk alongside his friend.

"Glad no one else is in costume," Steve said, while they strolled closer to the rest of the superhero party. Straight ahead, T'Challa saw the two of them approach and nodded his greeting.

"The invite said optional," Tony answered distractedly. "Wonder who else is coming."

From the sound of the off-key singing coming from the Party Bus, Peter Quill and Rocket were already inside. Like Tony, T'Challa was also in a black suit, looking regal with a sash in a pattern of a leopard across the shoulder. Steve peered down at himself, at the simple blue jeans and a light blue jacket he'd thrown on over his clean, gray t-shirt. He glanced sideways at the impeccably dressed dark-haired man next to him.

Tony turned to Steve, as if feeling his gaze, and caught his eyes. "Don't worry about it, Cap," he said, only for Steve's ears.

Something squeezed inside Steve's chest again and held still and silent for another helpless moment as they looked at one another, because Tony had known exactly what Steve was thinking. Tony knew he was feeling underdressed just from meeting his eyes. Suddenly the same familiar patterns of thought hit Steve harder than most things did lately: the sense of missing Tony (who was right there next to him), missing the intimate friendship they'd used to share (when they allowed themselves it), a longing to be closer (always).

And still, for the longest moment he couldn't look away from Tony as Tony gazed right back at him through overly large, fashionable, tinted sunglasses that did little to hide his piercing blue eyes. Tony looked so well put together, he wouldn't have looked out of place at the wedding itself. Steve wanted...

He couldn't help wanting to mess Tony up a little.

Tony's eyes widened and stayed on Steve's face when one of Steve's hands came up and tugged his bow tie apart, letting its black silk ends lie on the pristine white of Tony's shirt. The change softened Tony, made him look more approachable. A tiny wrinkle formed on Tony's brow, a question in his eyes. His face was open and Steve could lose himself like this.

If Tony was waiting for a clarification, Steve couldn't have explained his compulsion even to himself. Instead, he let a smile quirk his lips and shrugged, before letting his hand fall. A rosy flush sprung up on Tony's cheeks, and in the next moment he was clearing his throat and turning away, towards the rest of their party. Tony's hand came up to touch the end of the tie laying against his chest, paused, brushing it with his fingers, before he let his hand fall back to his side.

Conversation engulfed them, and Johnny Storm was animatedly ushering them inside the bus. Steve settled at the front and forgot to check what everyone else was wearing, if he even stood out in his simple, clean clothing. His thoughts were on Tony, and how he hadn't tried to correct what Steve had done to his bow tie.

Steve stared fixedly ahead.

If only he could untangle his feelings as easily.  


 

* * *

 

The hour at the UC Wrestling went by uneventfully. It was hard to feel sentimental while Ben pounded one challenger after another in an unlimited class wrestling match in front of them. At least The Thing seemed to enjoy himself, all the way until he pulled a groin muscle and they had to call Dr. Strange to look at him. Strange was not amused, but joined them for the rest of the night in repayment. 

Their next stop was much worse.

The bar Johnny had rented came already complete with Thor and the largest barrel of Asgardian liquor Steve had seen on Earth. While Thor merrily poured the _Finest Brew in All of Asgard_ into everyone's mugs from the shoulder, Tony simply leaned against the table with a resolute smile on his lips. Steve's thoughts couldn't help turning to him.

Tony hadn't had a slip with his drinking in ages. After everything he had done to his body over the years, all the changes that he'd undergone on a molecular level, Steve had wondered if he even felt the craving anymore. He could have engineered it out of himself, cut that part out of his genome or something equally wondrous. But whether he hadn't, or whether the alcohol craving for Tony was entirely psychological, Steve saw him wrestle briefly with the collar of his shirt, twisting it further open as if it was choking him. All the while he smiled vaguely in the direction of the rest of the cheerful participants in the ritual of drinking. Tony didn't take a glass.

Steve hid his face in his own mug of Asgardian brew, an acute feeling of pity, no, sympathy, no, _compassion_ swelling in his chest. Everywhere they went, Tony was always confronting his demons, his addict personality. He had a tighter reign on himself than most would even suspect, but Steve knew the cost. He'd been there before when that vaunted control broke, he'd seen Tony brought low, and that kind of pain, it stayed with you. It had stayed with Steve, and that was one of the list of reasons he didn't do _this_ anymore. He didn't look at Tony, and he didn't notice the way his collar fell away to expose the soft line of his throat.

Setting his mug aside, Steve put one arm on the back of Tony's chair, unobtrusively, he thought. And yet, Tony glanced up at him, tilting his head all the way back and up to see his face. Steve gave him a tight smile, feeling a frown etching his brow. His fingers ached where he clutched the back of the chair, to keep from setting them on Tony's shoulder, gripping tight as if to lend him strength. 

Something terrible eased in Tony's expression then, a light entered his eyes, and for a moment he just stared at Steve, long and somber, before turning his head back to the others at the table, where the conversation swirled at a fast pace. Tony said nothing, and Steve saw him swallow thickly. That was it. A shared look and the longing in the pit of Steve's stomach twisted tighter, winding and winding like a coil. The swell of emotions from the connection between them made him feel off balance in a way he didn't like and couldn't afford.

After everything that had gone down with the Supreme Hydra Leader who had worn Steve's face, it had taken Steve a while to get to a place where he wanted to be next to his friends again, wanted to be on the Avengers team again. And any Avenger line-up had to include Tony. Steve was very clear on that.

So they were teammates again, and they were friends again. Even when they didn't talk much outside the field — except in this strange pantomime where they said nothing at all and yet Steve felt as if each time their eyes met _his soul touched Tony's soul_ — Steve trusted Tony to have his back. Getting involved now would muddle things, mess with a working status quo, and it would be his fault for not keeping his emotions in check. He needed to be clearheaded, he needed to focus on what was most important. 

Above his feelings, above even Tony's feelings, there was the team. The Avengers. There was Steve's duty to the country and to his teammates, and he couldn't set it aside, couldn't let anything else take priority over that. The problem with _wanting_ Tony was that it never stopped with just _wanting_ him. It escalated. It rocketed out of proportions and then Steve didn't know if the decisions he was making were sane anymore, because all he could think about was _Tony_. Captain America had to be better. He needed to make up for what had been done in his name, in his image. He had to keep the world safe and the team safe.

So keeping his distance was for the best. It didn't matter if it hurt him. He would get over it.  


 

* * *

 

A congregation of this many superheroes couldn't pass by without someone taking note. Ben Grimm had one thing right — it was rare for them to have a gathering without a villain attempting to capitalize on their distraction. This evening it was the Serpent Society, and by the time Steve and the others had subdued them and they were being led away to the police cruisers, the bar was a disaster area. Spiderman was helping the staff clean up the plates by webbing them up. To the relief of the owner, Tony had offered to pay for the damages. Off to the side, Johnny Storm was trying to convince Ben that the bachelor party still had life in it. The rest of their group who hadn't left after the fight were patching themselves up on the other side of the room. Steve and Tony were off to the side by themselves.

"I liked that jacket," Tony sighed.

In the fighting, one of the Serpent Society members had gotten her hands around Tony's neck and attempted to strangle him. As a result of the — thankfully entirely unsuccessful — attempt on his life Tony looked completely disheveled and had a torn sleeve. He had taken the jacket off and draped it over the back of the chair, while he straightened his shirt and tucked it back into his pants. Steve stood leaning on the wall nearby while Tony put himself together. Tony had lost his sunglasses somewhere in the fight, and from the way the cleaning crew were sweeping the shattered glass off the floor into the dustbins around them, the glasses had met their demise. 

"Oh hey, Kate Bishop called me earlier," Tony said casually, fiddling with his cuff-links. "Have you talked to them lately? They seem to be doing some good over on the West Coast."

Knowing him for a soft touch when it came to the younger generation, Steve shot his profile a suspicious glance. There was a tiny smile playing on Tony's face, like he knew what Steve was looking at him for. And Steve had to admit, Tony probably did. They've known each other for far too long. Of course, Kate had told Tony about Steve's objections to their team name, and must have recruited Tony into her ranks.

"They're using the name Avengers," Steve grumbled, hands crossed on his chest. " _We're_ the Avengers."

"They said _West Coast_ Avengers in the paper." Steve was right, Tony had fallen for Kate's ploy. He was smiling fondly now. "You're being too hard on them."

"You don't have a problem with it?"

"Is it going to make us any less Avengers if they use the name?" Tony sounded entirely too reasonable and calm. 

"Names have power, you know that," Steve argued, pushing away from the wall, walking over to stand next to Tony, feeling strangely restless.

"Sure, but a rose by any other name..."

"Don't be ridiculous," Steve swatted his shoulder, rolling his eyes. Then he peered out into the distance, not really looking at anything important. "It's just... a lot has changed. Things aren't what they used to be. People don't have the same kind of trust in a lot of things..." Steve sighed. "But the Avengers — that's still good. That's still a _good_ name. A name that means a lot to a lot of people."

Tony was silent for a long moment, then Steve felt a hand on his shoulder, warm fingers squeezing once. "People can differentiate, you know." His words sounded close and intimate, but Steve didn't dare look him in the eyes just then. His chest burned with something unnamed. Not quite hope. Maybe. "Even if two things are called the same, and even look the same on the surface, we know when they're not the same."

"Why do I get the feeling we're not talking about the Avengers anymore," Steve said a little sourly. He had gone almost twenty four hours without thinking about his double, and that was a record for him these days. Tony was too clever by half to nail his discomfort so easily, pin it down with his effortless logic.

"You started it." Tony patted his back and withdrew, to finish fixing his hair. He did this by running his fingers backwards, until it fell into some sort of sexy bedhead style. He'd grown it out long enough that Steve could have sunk his fingers into the dark strands. Tony said, "But I do know what being on the Avengers means to you, because I know what it's like to need something to hang on to." His voice had grown soft towards the end, wistful in a way that made Steve vaguely uncomfortable, without knowing the cause. As if they weren't talking about Steve anymore. 

He glanced at Tony, studying his face not as a friend would, through a filter of familiarity and comfort, but trying to remain objective. Tony had dark circles under his eyes on a too pale face. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping much. No wonder he'd been hanging on to his sunglasses for most of the evening. Now he couldn't hide behind them anymore.

As if sensing Steve's attention shifted outward, no longer focused on his own troubles, Tony turned his eyes away and went to grab his jacket off the chair, pulling it back on, torn sleeve and all. "Can you believe Johnny managed to get the Serpent Society to jump out of cakes? The worst part is it's not even the weirdest thing that happened to me since yesterday. You should see what T'Challa has done with the penthouse at the Mountain." Tony whistled and shook his head. He was talking quickly, each subject an attempt to distract Steve from his earlier scrutiny. It only made Steve look harder at the other man's back. Physically, Tony looked alright, aside from maybe a lack of sleep. And yet there was a strangely manic quality to his movements and speech that worried Steve. It was as if Tony was hiding something, and the thought opened up a nervous pit in Steve's stomach.

"I thought you'd been spending your time in New York. With Jan." 

"I've been everywhere," Tony said turning back to him. He'd lost his silk bow-tie, and now looked endearingly casual in his rumpled tuxedo jacket. "That reminds me, I'm still looking into your Zeke Stane situation. Whoever he's working with is good at covering up their tracks or my algorithms would have found them by now."

"You're being careful?" Steve frowned. The last thing they needed was someone in government to recognize that Tony was snooping around through their networks.

Predictably, Tony didn't dignify his question with more than an eye-roll. He opened his mouth to say something more, just when Thor came up from behind him and landed his heavily muscled arm on Tony's shoulders, startling him. "Friends," Thor boomed. "Join us for a game of chance and strategy." He began to draw Tony along to the rest of the group, waiting for them. 

_Tell you later_ , Tony mouthed at Steve, and let Thor bring him over to the poker table that'd been brought into the cleaned up area of the bar. Ben was already seated on the opposite end, along with Quill, Rocket and T'Challa, spread out in the seats around the table. Johnny was shuffling the card deck. Ben's face brightened when Thor drew Tony closer to the table and nudged him to sit in one of the empty chairs. 

"A few hands a' poker! Yeah, this is more my speed!" Ben smiled down at his chips. Nearby, Johnny was explaining the rules to Thundra, as T'Challa dragged the last remaining chair over.

"Steven?" Thor looked askance at him.

"I'll sit this one out, thanks." Steve had a feeling that this game was going to go about as well as the previous half of the evening — which was to say, someone had to stick around and keep an eye on things without getting drawn into the action. He folded his arms on his chest and watched as the other men and Thundra began to play. 

Tony threw Steve a quick smug look, blink and you'll miss it. Steve fought to keep any reaction off his face. Between the two of them, they both knew who always won at poker. Not Steve.

Around them, the cleaning crew was still getting rid of the remains of the earlier struggle with the Serpent Society, but the area around the poker table was already clean and the game swung into action. Voices quickly became animated, as Rocket and Thor began raising the stakes higher and higher, getting into the excitement of gambling on their luck. Tony was watching the proceedings with bemusement, peeking at his card hand — his fantastic poker face for once perfectly appropriate for the occasion — and while he was otherwise occupied, Steve watched him.

He'd seen the headlines of course: Tony's dating profile and him being 'off the market' had made the evening news, after the disaster with the Baintronics matchmaking site broke out in NYC. He'd first assumed that Tony and Janet situation was all paparazzi getting it wrong, but other pictures had surfaced in the tabloids on the supermarket stands: they had really gone on a date.

The smart thing to do would have been to ask Tony, but they never really talked about their romantic lives with each other. It got awkward fast. So Steve had to go off what he knew: Tony was dating other people. Thinking about it was like pressing on a fresh bruise, but as long as Tony was happy Steve would accept it. Even if he had to fight himself on this every step of the way.  


 

* * *

 

A simple poker game became strip-poker when the players ran out of chips. There went Thor's headgear, there then T'Challa's sash. Tony turned his face away with the long-suffering expression of someone who knew where this was going. But he kept playing, and when he lost another hand he took his Rolex off his wrist to stay in the game.

Steve was glad he'd sat this one out, even as he observed the proceedings with amusement from where he stood, arms folded on his chest behind Rocket and Tony's chair. It was unlike Tony to lose badly. He was having an alright luck in cards, but had a terrible time with his bluffs all evening. He ended up being called on almost every one of them, until the chips migrated from his pile to Thundra's, slowly but surely. Steve had figured out she was the foxhound among the sheep a few rounds in and was watching to see who else would pick up on it.

The card hand Tony was carefully peeking at made Steve's eyes widen. Between the cards on the table and the cards in Tony's hand it looked like a flush of diamonds. Tony's expression was carefully schooled when he allowed the round to continue only raising by a bit, drawing in the other players. 

"Fold," Thor threw his hand down with surprising quickness. So did Quill and Thundra. After the round finished, Rocket was the only one who called Tony's bet. Another careful raise from Tony and Rocket also groaned and folded.

"What..." Tony started, staring dejectedly at the slim winnings he'd picked up with his fantastic hand. Then, unexpectedly, he swiveled his head to look at Steve. 

Steve blinked at him.

Tony glanced between Steve and the players on the opposite end of the table, all looking far too innocent, then down at his own card hand and groaned. "Hey, Cap," he said dryly. "Maybe you could stand somewhere else for a while, huh?"

Thor could barely conceal his disappointment even as Steve figured out the source of Tony's bad luck. Flushing, Steve moved to elsewhere in the room where he could not see Tony's cards. Tony told him he wore his heart on his sleeve too much, and it seemed the rest of the poker players had caught on to it.

He leaned against the bar and watched them play from a distance. It was just as well he could get some space. Standing next to Tony as Tony undressed himself piece-by-piece to keep playing into Thundra's hands was probably far too dangerous. Steve had good self control but...there was a lot on display. Steve's eyes lingered for a second on the now-bare muscles of Tony's arms, lithe and wiry, before he carefully moved his eyes away to a far wall. That morning he'd jerked off by keeping his thoughts firmly on Sharon. Even though it had been over a month since she left, it felt harmless. Comforting. But thinking about Tony like this was a free-fall, a complete loss of control.

If they were _together_ , Steve could have put his hands on Tony's bare shoulders now, standing behind him and pressing into his back, lowered his chin on top of his silky hair. Could have run his fingertips down to the pectorals until Tony shivered, full-body, sunk boneless further into Steve's arms...

Steve shifted uncomfortably and pushed the image away. 

And even if Tony was free — and Janet was a variable, they might be planning to go on more dates together — even if Tony could be _his_ , it was a bad idea. Steve had to keep reminding himself of that because his body clearly had other things to say.

He sipped on a beverage and waited for the torturous poker game to end.  


 

* * *

 

"Not a word," Tony grumped, coming over dressed only in black briefs after the poker game was over. 

Steve couldn't hold back a tiny smile, but he was sympathetic enough to shove his blue jacket at Tony's chest. Tony grabbed it with a muttered, "Thanks," and put the jacket around his shoulders like a cape, without sliding his arms into the sleeves. He kindly didn't mention Steve's role in setting up his losing streak earlier, so Steve couldn't tease him too much for looking ridiculous. 

It was late, a couple of hours after midnight, and the evening chill had set in making goosebumps break out on Tony's bare arms. Johnny Storm promised them he could charm their clothes back from Thundra, but since the entire night had been his idea, Steve had his reservations about those chances. When a scuffle broke out between Ben and Thundra over something or other, nobody was truly surprised. At least as a result of another fight and more damages to his furniture, the owner of the _World's Greatest Bar_ was adamant the "party" broke up right that instant, and everyone's clothing was returned to them.

Tony looked weary as he slipped his black pants and jacket back on, foregoing a torn-up shirt, and handed Steve's jacket back to him before they went outside. He'd left his credit card number with the owner to pay for the damages — on top of cleaning up all the snake-lady cake — but grumpily insisted he would bill Ben Grimm for it later. He wouldn't, but the complaint was indicative of how tired Tony was feeling. The dark circles under his eyes seemed more pronounced in the dim streetlight, and when they piled into the bus to go back, Tony slid low on his seat, throwing his head back to lean it on the headrest, exposing his throat, eyes closed. He was crashing.

"When was the last time you slept?" Steve wondered, at the picture of exhaustion presented to him. He sat next to Tony, shoulder to shoulder in the back of the bus.

Tony barely slid one eye open to regard him, the dark blue peeking out from under the fluttering eyelids before the eye slid closed again. He sighed.

"Tony," Steve prodded, and squeezed his elbow.

"Two days, four hours..." Tony sighed again.

"What's going on?" Steve tried not to let the frown show in his face, but it must have been obvious anyway, because Tony opened his eyes and lifted his head off the seat with a little smile on his face. 

"Aww," he teased. "You're such a mother-hen." The way he said it, it was part-pleased and part-scornful. Just like Tony to leave Steve torn about a measure of kindness or concern he'd attempted to offer. Tony put his hand on Steve's shoulder, then lowered his cheek on top of it and rubbed, like a cat snuggling in for a rest. It felt weirdly intimate, but Steve reconsidered pushing him off. He looked so exhausted. "I've just been busy," Tony yawned. Even his voice sounded drained and low, whisper-like, as if his batteries have finally wound down.

Steve glanced down at the head resting on his shoulder and saw Tony's eyes slipped shut again. His eyelashes lay like smudges on his cheek, fluttering almost imperceptibly. The affection Steve felt at that moment was indescribable. He tried to channel it into aggravation, but with Tony looking so helpless it was hard to maintain any barriers. Tony was probably running himself into the ground again with his company. He always did this to himself. Steve hadn't been around as much lately, half because his own affairs have been taking a toll and half because he hadn't wanted to be around for whatever was happening with Tony and Jan, but now he thought it had been an unfortunate choice. He should have already known what was going on with Tony, if he was having problems.

"Everything okay with Janet?" Steve asked.

Tony snorted without opening his eyes. "We're cool."

"Meaning?"

"It's fun. She's a friend. Quit worrying. No, worry about you and Sharon." He yawned again and seemed to shift so he was leaning more against Steve, clearly on the verge of sleep.

"What about me and Sharon?" Steve asked. When she'd kissed him goodbye and got into that limo, off on a mission in Europe, it had felt so natural to part. It should have felt wrong to watch her leave, but it didn't. She was a fantastic operative, Steve needed her out in the field. He was fine on his own. A little lonely, which explained a lot about how the proximity to Tony was agitating him. With a little sigh, Tony muttered something too indistinct to pick out. Steve glared at the dark-haired head monopolizing his shoulder. "There's no me and Sharon anymore."

"Sharon was good for you. Why'd you chase her away?" Tony mumbled.

"I think I make her feel old," Steve said quietly under his breath. He thought it was worse than that. He thought he made her unhappy.

"Mmm?" Tony shuffled a bit on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered, struggling to open. "Wha'ss that?" He even tried to lift his head, but Steve put a quiet palm against his dark hair and kept him down with a light touch.

"Nothing."

Tony's eyes fluttered closed again as he slumped fully against Steve's shoulder. The warmth of his body soaked through the thin clothing down to Steve's skin.

Steve looked ahead, eyes catching the dark gaze of the man sitting in the opposite seat. T'Challa stared at him impassively until Steve had to turn his face away to look out at the night scenery outside the window. Unfortunately, the darkness outside did little to hide the flush on his face.

When the bus dropped them off, he couldn't abandon a practically sleep-walking Tony to his own devices, so he went along with him to the Foundry. The apartment Tony was staying at was all the way up in the penthouse of the building. Tony always did like his heights.

While they rode the elevator up, Tony leaned back against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed. Watching him, Steve shook his head in exasperation and looked away.

"Hey," Tony said. "I've got some files on Zeke Stane you should see." 

When Steve sharply glanced his way, he still hadn't opened his eyes, leaning against the elevator wall as if it was propping him up. "I thought you couldn't find his contact in the government?"

"But I found who _isn't_. Contacting him, I mean." Tony finally opened his eyes. He looked utterly exhausted, peering at Steve, as if waiting for Steve to tell him he'd been useful, that he'd been a good boy. "That's gonna help you out, right?" 

Steve's heart squeezed with a mix of compassion and gratitude. Tony always worried about him. He always gave all sorts of help, from a field-gun attuned for cyborgs that Steve used with spectacular results last month in Chicago, to the training holograms developed specifically for Steve that kept him fit, to this current search project he was running for Steve; he gave and gave. It was time for Steve to look out for him for a change. "I think that can wait until morning," he said, coming closer and putting an arm around Tony's shoulders, even as the elevator dinged softly on Tony's floor, opening into an tasteful but empty-looking living room. Tony's living spaces always said a lot about where he spent most of the time, Steve thought, the clutter of his workshops instantly springing to mind. "C'mon, you need sleep."

Tony wasn't listening. "Jocasta?" He called to the ceiling. "Do you have the results of the brain scan comparisons?" Of course, the first thing he wanted upon coming home in the middle of the night was a report on his experiments.

A screen popped down on the wall, with the familiar face of the robot. "84% complete. The rest should be ready in a few hours." Several side-by-side non-overlapping charts showed on the screens instead of Jocasta's face.

"That's...Why are you comparing Jan's brainwaves to Jocasta's?" Steve asked curiously, looking between the screens and Tony. 

"Just a side-project I'm working on," Tony waved him off blithely, shrugging off Steve's arm. He thought he was _so good_ at covering his feelings, but from the way he'd gone from slouching sloppily by the door to a straight-backed tension in the shoulder-line, Steve knew it was a little more important than a 'side-project'. He wanted to push, but Tony was just as likely to start snoring mid-way through the conversation. He'd ask him about it tomorrow. 

"Wake me up when it's done, would you please?" Tony asked, only to receive a nod from Jocasta. Her image vanished off the screen as it turned off.

Steve frowned. "You need sleep, Tony." 

Tony gave a dismissive wave. "I've been asleep for months." He was referring to his coma, and Steve sure understood the feeling of the world passing you by. He'd spend countless nights awake after making it out of the Cosmic Cube. But he had the super soldier serum and Tony's body was human, no RT or Extremis to give him the extra healing factor anymore. Not that Tony ever took that into account and slowed down even a bit. That wouldn't be like Tony at all.

"You really need to take better care of yourself, Shellhead," Steve murmured softly into the quiet of the room.

"Such a mother-hen." Tony repeated the common refrain, while at the same time looking touched by the concern. His eyes were that same deep brilliant blue, warm and affectionate, sparkling with intellect, wholly irresistible. "Do you want to stick around?" Tony said with another yawn. "I've got a guest bedroom." He waved in the general direction of one of the doors.

Steve's bike was still back by Yancy Street, where he'd left it when he decided to make sure Tony made it home alright. He nodded, thinking that if he stayed over for the night, he could talk to Tony in the morning about the information he had found from hacking the government and about the strange side-projects he was running.

"Okay. Well. I'm...I'm... I'm gonna—." With a flutter of his hand in the general direction of his bed, Tony slipped inside his bedroom and shut the door.  


 

* * *

 

Instead of using the guest-bedroom, Steve settled in the armchair of Tony's living room and used one of the StarkPads lying on the coffee table to get online. He was mostly checking his email and looking to make sure nothing out of the ordinary had happened with the rest of the world while he and Tony had been out partying. Only about thirty percent of his brain was devoted to that task. The rest of him was occupied turning over the events of the day in his head.

He really was completely fucked.

It should have been obvious from the moment he thought untying Tony's tie was anything but an excuse to touch him.

It should have been obvious when his letters to Sharon were full of his thoughts about Tony.

But Steve was good at setting that aside most of the time. It was easier to put it away, for later, and just never really look at it. Only now he was looking — still obliquely, still without his _full_ focus because doing that left Steve feeling exposed — but he was thinking about the evening, about Tony's eyes, about watching Tony's bare shoulders flex as he played poker, about walking Tony to his room to make sure he would be okay. About sitting out in his living room, not standing guard, not really, but also feeling a little better inside, a little calmer because like this he could watch over Tony.

He'd lost himself in his thoughts and didn't notice the passage of hours until he heard a loud crash from behind Tony's closed door.

Steve sprang to his feet from the armchair and went to the door, listening intently. There was a sound of soft cursing from inside the bedroom.

His heart-rate spiked in alarm and he wrenched the knob with one powerful move, swinging the door open. "Tony?!"

Tony was standing over what looked like a broken tablet by his bare feet. 

"Steve?" Tony said, without looking away from the broken screen. He looked completely freaked out. The broken tablet at his feet might as well have been writhing snakes.

Steve quickly checked the rest of the room for any foreign presence, but they were alone. "Are you okay?" Steve said, coming closer.

Tony gave a laugh, like it was some kind of a joke at his expense. Steve walked further into the bedroom, because now it seemed like Tony needed him there. Even though Tony's feet were bare, he was still wearing his suit from earlier in the evening. With a glance at the bed, Steve confirmed what he suspected, that Tony hadn't touched it that night. This was more than just a light insomnia.

"You haven't slept? That isn't normal, you know that right?"

"Normal is boring!" Tony enthused with a sudden manic energy that felt completely at odds with his earlier mood. "Steve, look," he smiled, or rather his lips stretched in a smile that was positively ready to appear on a cover of a journal. His eyes remained somber and strangely gave Steve the impression of something distressed and frightened laying in their depths. "Sorry I woke you, I had— Wait, you weren't sleeping either?" Tony put a hand to his hip, looking Steve up and down and noticing he hadn't changed. He was starting to look like he was finding his footing in the dark, blindly, by feel.

"Don't change the subject," Steve growled. He was getting sick of watching Tony try to play him off, as if Steve didn't know any better. As if Tony could keep things from him and he wouldn't find out. "What upset you?"

Tony looked startled to be asked out right, his smile dimmed, slid off his face. After a moment's silence, Tony turned away from him, towards the dark window outside, his back to Steve. In the soft-yellow light from the lamps inside Tony's bedroom, Tony's figure left a long shadow on the floor. According to Steve's internal clock it was around three a.m., the so-called witching hour. Tony was silent and Steve felt as if a spell had been cast on the two of them.

"The analysis doesn't really prove anything," Tony said quietly. "Too many variables had to be ignored to make a scientifically valid comparison."

"What comparison? Who or what are you analyzing here?" Steve walked up behind him, wishing he could see Tony's face. It was determinedly turned away from him.

"Jocasta and Jan are both positive data points. The problem is finding a counter example."

"Data points?" Steve's eyebrows flew up into the hairline as Tony went on in a rambling fashion.

"The problem is finding" — Tony shivered — "someone else without a soul."

What? "What?"

Tony looked resolutely away. "Nevermind," he said dully. "Forget it."

"No. What the heck was that?" Steve put a hand on Tony's shoulder and turned him. Tony swayed but didn't shy away from his touch. Steve peered into his pale face. "What have you been thinking?"

"I've uh..." Tony wet his lips, his eyes roving, unable to settle on anything. "I've decided I must not have a..." Tony swallowed with a click of a throat. He was shaking, Steve realized with dread. Tony was trying to talk, and his voice was wobbling all over the place and his shoulders shook under Steve's hand. Whatever this was, it was huge to him. "What I'm trying to say is..." and Tony couldn't finish.

"Just tell me," Steve said softly, kindly, horrified he didn't already know. "What is it?"

Tony looked him straight in the face and strangely smiled, a parody of a grin. He said, straightforward and almost casual. "I must not have a soul."

Steve blinked at him.

The fake ugly smile slid off Tony's lips. He turned his glassy eyes away. 

Steve frowned. "Explain."

"I'm sorry, Steve. You're dealing with enough already and—"

Steve put one hand against his cheek and turned his face back to face Steve. Growled, "Answer me," and that was far too harsh, even though Steve needed answers, right now, for what he was seeing. " _Tony_ ," he repeated.

The tears that stood in Tony's brilliant eyes tried to spill onto his long dark lashes, but he wiped them away with a sleeve, movements angry and sharp. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. He never liked to get emotional in front of Steve, but the stress, the long hours being awake, and whatever he'd seen on that broken tablet had clearly overcome his defenses.

"I'm not...I'm—" he was stumbling over the words. He took a deep shuddering breath. "I reinstalled my brain. I wuh-wiped it, back then. And my—my _body_. It's new. Re-engineered. I'm just. I'm not sure any part of me is real, okay?" His jaw clenched in anger. His bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Not anymore?" he whispered, as if asking Steve to confirm it for him.

Steve stood frozen, breath caught in his throat.

Tony put a hand to his mouth, as if to stop further sounds from coming out, trembling like a leaf. His eyes squeezed shut.

Tony flinched like he'd been expecting a blow when Steve pulled him into his arms. _Dear God_ , Steve was thinking, hugging Tony tight. He'd had no idea. He'd been so wrapped up in himself and his feelings, that he hadn't even checked what was going on with Tony all this time.

"Steve?" Tony mumbled, trying to push away for a second, before relenting against his hold, falling against his chest. "I know you hate— you hate _everything_ I've done to myself—Extremis, and then this—" he could barely talk, his breathing too fast and shallow, like a panic attack. It was a panic attack, expertly disguised, and Steve was completely unprepared to deal with it. They had their differences, yes, Steve was never going to be a fan of the things Tony put himself through, but that was because he cared so much about Tony. He hated to see him in pain now.

"Shhhh," Steve murmured, trying to be kind, and ran his hand over Tony's back. "Just breathe."

"This is so stupid. It doesn't matter. I don't know why— why I'm—" Tony buried his face in the crook of Steve's shoulder and neck, as if to hide there, hands grasping and twisting the material of Steve's shirt.

Steve put a hand on the back of his head, sinking his fingers into his messy dark hair. "'Cause you're upset, genius. You... God, Tony. Why didn't you tell me earlier?" He wanted to shake the other man.

And that turned out to be precisely the wrong thing to say. Tony quieted. It was like he switched off, and all the sounds he'd been making earlier died out. Even his trembling became less pronounced. He mumbled, "Sorry."

With a hollow pit in his stomach, Steve realized he was fucking this up. Holding Tony, petting him, might have been making Steve feel better, and he was deluding himself into thinking it was enough for Tony to feel better too. It wasn't. No amount of comforting touch was gonna cure this, not when Tony had internalized that, what? He was something less than what he'd been before. And Tony's opinion of himself had never been great exactly.

"Hey, look at me?" Steve said in a voice that was part-command, part some sort of pleading entreaty. Tony obeyed. His watery eyes were slitted half way, as if opening them to look at the world, at Steve fully, was more than he could take. But he looked, and so Steve said with certainty. "You have a soul."

"Steve..." Tony mumbled, trying to turn his face away, sounding utterly defeated.

"You have a soul, Tony!" Steve growled. Tony jerked in his arms, and Steve found his voice dropping into a low burr, speaking into his eyes, as seriously and sincerely as he's ever spoken. "I know, because I...I..." He couldn't say it. Not _I love you_. Not _your soul is what I love_. Even though it was true. Even though when he thought about Tony, he loved all of him. Because his mind was attracted to Tony's mind, and his body wanted Tony's body, and his heart loved Tony's heart. So his soul: yes. If there was such a thing as souls — and Steve wanted to believe there was — then Tony's soul burned bright like a star. "You do, okay?" he said. "You do."

Tony kissed him.

His lips pressed softly, warmly against Steve's lips. Steve flinched and felt the answering flinch go through Tony's whole body. Tony's lips were still pressed lightly against his, but he was otherwise shock still. This was happening. Steve let his mouth drop open slightly in invitation, and sucked on Tony's lips. Was it gratitude? Was it affection? It felt divine. Suddenly, they were kissing with passion and hunger.

Blood rushed in his ears, heart hammering so hard he thought Tony might have felt it trying to jump out of his chest. He knew the right thing to do was stop. He couldn't stop. If he refused Tony now, pushed him away, it would kill Tony. Not literally, but it would inflict an emotional injury that in his current state might be permanent. Steve couldn't do that to him, couldn't hurt him like that. So he kissed back.

Steve tried to hold himself apart from the kiss, while still physically responding. He thought if he could just get through this, give Tony what he wanted then— Then his thoughts shattered, because Tony was there and his mouth was hot and his tongue was inside Steve's mouth, and the intimate touch against his own tongue was making Steve dizzy with desire. He clutched Tony to himself, unable to resist kissing him for all he was worth. This was _Tony_ , Tony and him, and what Steve wanted most was to keep on kissing him.

All of him. Breathless with nerves and desire, he was pulling Tony up, putting his hands under his thighs and lifting Tony up, turning them so Tony's back hit the nearest wall with a soft thump as they continued to kiss and kiss, uninterrupted. Tony responded to the move with a soft whine, and moved to hitch his legs around Steve's hips. Like this, pressed up against the wall, Steve could hold him with just one hand, so his other hand traveled up to lie on the back of Tony's neck, to tug his head back so that Steve could kiss his jaw, the space next to his ear, mouth at his neck, lap at his pulse point.

Tony shivered against him, body flush against Steve's and Steve could feel the thrust of his hips against Steve's. A sensation like electricity zapped up Steve's back and he answered Tony's thrusts with his own, rutting against him. Tony's hands went to unbuckle Steve's belt. At the clang of metal, Steve tried to grasp at some sort of reason. After all this time holding back, if they slept together...

"I don't— I— _Tony_ ," he groaned, hard and rubbing himself off against Tony's answering arousal when Tony kissed him again. Steve felt like he could come just like this. Tony's strong thighs were on both sides of him, and one of his hands was in Steve's hair. Damnit. Damnit. He couldn't say no to this. "Bed," Steve gasped out against his mouth, forgetting whether he ever wanted this to stop, forgetting why he would, when Tony was all he wanted, inside and around him. Holding Tony to himself, Steve made the few steps towards the bed, even as Tony's kisses grew frantic against his mouth.

He lowered the other man on the bed, and collapsed in after him, under the pull of Tony's roaming hands. Those strong, long fingers pushed his pants down to his knees, yanked up his t-shirt and slid against the bare skin of his back. Steve assisted as much as he could, moving back to pull his shirt off over his head and shuck his pants and underwear off until he was nude. Then he helped Tony do the same. As soon as Tony was bare they were kissing again.

Tony's hand slid up under the pillow, pulling out lube. "You want to, right?" His eyes were half-mast, staring fathomless up at Steve. He looked pale, but his earlier tears had dried and there was a dazed sort of contentment on his face, a kind of peaceful acceptance. The trust in his eyes took Steve's breath away.

Steve swallowed thickly and nodded.

Tony ran his hands up and down Steve's arms, a couple of times, and as if he sensed the wildness in Steve, wrapped his arms around Steve's neck and held him, staring him deep in the eyes. "I want you to." Tony kissed him. "I want you to baptize this body, want you to make me _feel_ you."

That's right, Tony's body was brand new. Steve didn't know what he was supposed to think. This was still Tony. He was rocking his groin against Tony's groin, feeling the answering arousal there. Tony nibbled on his jaw, and the feel of him, underneath, was overwhelming Steve's senses. "Where are your condoms?" he murmured.

"Uh..."

"Don't tell me...?"

"Well," Tony met his eyes awkwardly. "I was gonna buy some, but I got busy... Do you have any?"

In exasperation, Steve lay his forehead on Tony's shoulder. He mumbled, "It would have been weirder if I'd thought to grab some on the way here." Back then he'd thought they would maybe talk. Now Tony's body, lithe and beautiful, was underneath him and there was no going back.

Tony rubbed a tentative hand over his back and started to shift out from under him, meaning to get up off the bed. "We can get—"

Steve bracketed him with his arms and wouldn't let him leave. "Do you want to...?" his face grew flushed. "I mean, I'm clean."

"Oh." Tony surged up and kissed him quickly, nuzzling his jaw afterward. His voice was soaked in anticipation. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay," Steve said, mostly to himself, consumed with the thought of feeling Tony from the inside, without the barrier of a condom. His dick jumped and a shiver ran through him. Tony squirmed in his arms, hands everywhere, on his dick, up his abs, running across Steve's shoulders, down to his bare ass, pulling him closer. His brilliant blue eyes seemed deeper then ever, and Steve was sinking, he was falling. He was flying apart. It was too much. "Turn around," he said.

Tony looked surprised, but after a moment's hesitation he rolled over on the side, inviting Steve to plant himself against his back. Like this, being unable to see Tony's face, his eyes, Steve felt like he could get through this.

"Spread your legs," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice calm. Tony made a soft sound and obeyed.

"I can do this part myself," he offered, reaching back for lube. Steve took his fingers with his own and set Tony's hand back onto the pillow, leaving it there.

"I've got you," Steve grunted. Tony's fingers clenched the pillow and he stayed still for a long silent moment as Steve coated his fingers with lube. He coated his own dick first, working quickly, running his hand once over the sensitive head. Then he squirted more clear liquid on his fingers and reached down for Tony's bare ass, presented to him. He wanted to make Tony feel good, so he moved his fingers gently against the opening, coating it with lube, rubbing the tight muscles there. There was a moment's doubt in his head that an entrance so small could fit him, but as he kept making circles upon circles, Tony groaned under him, pushing back, and Steve's index finger slipped easily inside.

It must have felt good for Tony, because Steve could see him screw his eyes shut, butting his head against the pillow and pushing back against Steve. Things started to speed up, no matter how careful Steve wanted to be with him, the obvious desire in every line of Tony's body was overwhelming his self-control. He pushed a second finger in, pistoning in and out, half-afraid he was moving too quickly, half-wanting to take Tony apart, make him keen with pleasure. They were actually doing this. It would have felt like a dream, if not for the distressingly intimate feeling of Tony's body around his fingers, velvety soft. Tony was quiet beneath him, and it felt strange to Steve; it scared him a little.

"Does it feel good?" he asked, finding himself in an odd position of wanting reassurance when he wasn't the one being vulnerable.

Tony laughed, a despairing little giggle. "Get in there," he said instead, "fuck me," and pushed his ass onto Steve's fingers, the tight heat swallowing them. It was getting easier to move inside, so Steve thought he was almost ready.

He gave a few more strokes, trying to watch Tony's face over his shoulder, ignoring that he'd wanted Tony turned away from him precisely so he didn't know what it looked like screwed up in pleasure. Tony's mouth was open slightly, he was breathing quickly, almost panting. His dick was curled up against his stomach, the tip wet with precome.

Steve pulled his fingers out slowly, and lined his hips up with Tony's. 

"C'mon," Tony said in a low breathy voice. "C'mon, Steve. Don't get coy now."

The tip of his hard dick was positioned against the opening, and putting his hands on Tony's hips, Steve pushed just the head inside the ring of muscle. The slide felt slick and hot, sending sparks against his nerve endings, and Steve couldn't stop himself, he pushed deeper inside in one smooth movement, until most of his dick was sheathed. Tony grunted beneath him and pushed back with a fluid movement of his hips. Steve's eyes fluttered closed and he struggled to keep them open, to watch for Tony's reactions and make sure it was as good for him as it was for Steve. He tried to control his movements as he pulled out a little and thrust deeper inside, the entire dick swallowed up now in the heat of Tony's body. The electrifying sensation ran up his nerves in pulses as he moved.

He felt his balls draw up, ready to shoot and had to pause for a moment, stilling his movements until he could be sure he wouldn't come right then, before resuming slow moves in and out. It couldn't happen too fast, he wanted to stretch the moments they were joined like this, to make Tony remember him. If they only had this one time together, he'd make sure Tony liked it. One hand still on Tony's hip, he reached for Tony's dick, hand closing around the flushed hardness and stroking it slowly. Tony made a whimpering noise in response, and the coils of his muscles clenched Steve's dick, making him gasp and struggle against a threatening orgasm.

"Relax a little," he pushed past his lips, feeling the answering shiver all through Tony's body and the following easing of pressure. Tony spread his legs a little more, his ass sucking him inside. Steve could move again, and though it still felt tight and hot, the resistance was less and he could slide in and out more easily. There was a snap to his hips now, as he pounded inside.

Tony twisted the pillow in his fingers, his movements matching Steve's. A sheen of sweat began to cover his body as his low moans grew higher. Steve found he was sweating too, the exertion of fucking into him, listening to the sounds he made, and staving off his own orgasm all at once overwhelming. He put his face against the crook of Tony's neck, smelling the musk there. 

The moans Tony made under him turned to whimpers, and Steve gave up on holding himself apart, let himself fuck deep and hard as he wanted. Like a missing puzzle piece, his faster movements unlocked a new tenor in Tony's voice, whose moans and whimpers turned to keening cries. Steve felt Tony's dick in his hand give a twitch and pounded inside his ass until Tony's body seized up all around him, come spurting out across his fingers. Steve pushed and pulled him onto his dick to the hilt, wanting inside the hot clench of his body, stroking Tony while he came, and then Steve couldn't help himself and he was coming too. It shot out of him, a loud grunt escaping through his tightly clenched teeth. He shook, his dick twitching and spurting inside as protracted waves of pleasure drove through him.

Afterward, he lay gasping against Tony's back. His arm had come to circle Tony's chest, he found, when Tony set his own hands on it, petting him gently. Steve's softening dick was still buried inside his warm heat to the hilt.

Steve didn't know how he made himself move back, how he found the self-control to pull off him and slide out of bed. The hardwood floor felt cool against his bare feet. He stared down at it unseeing.

"You okay?" Tony whispered from the other side of the bed, but Steve couldn't look at him.

"Yeah. Mind if I use the bathroom?" He didn't wait for an answer, hurrying to the separate room.

"Steve?" he though the heard behind him, before he quietly shut the door.

What a disaster. Breath hitching, Steve went to clean up. His hands were rough on his body as he wiped himself down: several brisk, short moves before throwing the tissues into the trash. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror. He was sure how he felt would be written all over his face. It was why he'd needed to hide in the bathroom, a thin barrier separating him from Tony, before he broke, before he gave in to what he wanted to do and held him, clung to him, kissed him all over. They could get past a one-night stand, explain it away as pent up stress, but staying afterward? No, it would change everything. The pull between him and Tony frightened him. Steve was so goddamn tired of fighting it, but he had to, didn't he? 

After a minute of getting his breathing under control, he wrapped a towel around his hips and slid the door open a crack. He peered into the bedroom with a sinking pit in his stomach, half expecting Tony to be curled up and sleeping in post-coital haze, half expecting him to be gone already. 

Steve didn't expect to catch Tony sitting on the bed, wiping at his eyes.

When Steve opened the door wide, Tony lowered his hand to the mattress with a jerky move and looked up at him, a moment of shame bright and piercing in his dark eyes. His face went blank. The contrast between his expression now and before while they'd had sex startled Steve into freezing on the doorstep. The pain Tony was in was so obvious when Steve could see his eyes.

"You didn't shower?" Tony said in a hollow voice and with a strange curl on his lips that likely meant to be a smile. He was going to pretend he was okay, Steve thought with a sinking sense of dread. He was going to let Steve walk away now, and act like it was fine, he was fine, what they did didn't matter. Tony had read what he could into Steve's behavior today and he was going to make the best of things, continue on like they had before, try to be friends. Even if he was in agony.

Steve felt sick at the thought of it.

Suddenly his whole world unfurled before his eyes, as if he could see the future. The way he could keep denying himself this and keep on hurting Tony. The way Tony would always think he deserved it and never ask for more. He could see so clearly that Tony and Tony's feelings would be the price Steve would pay for feeling in control. What kind of a trade off was that? The thought was unbearable, as if it was someone else doing this with his body. As if someone else was hurting Tony because Steve wouldn't admit how much he loved him and how scared he was of what that meant. 

He saw the way he could make things right. The one choice that was good. Because feeling strong and in control wasn't as important as Tony's happiness, never could be. And Steve didn't want to fight this anymore if it meant he caused the distress plain in Tony's eyes. The earlier intimacy meant that everything felt raw, every feeling was harder to hide and he _saw_ Tony. So he set aside his doubts.

Steve closed the distance to the bed in a few strides. Sank to a crouch in front of Tony, one knee on the hardwood floor for balance, his towel falling to the ground from his hips. Tony looked startled when Steve wrapped his arms around his middle, sliding him to the edge of the bed, knees open on both sides of Steve. Tony was still naked, with only the bed covers lying in his lap between them. Steve pulled one of Tony's hands up to lay around his own neck, in demonstration of how he wanted it. With his lips parted, eyes wide, Tony took him up on the offer, drawing him close. 

Steve set his forehead against Tony's sternum and just breathed for a moment while Tony embraced him tight.

Tony's gentle hand carded through his hair. "What is it?" he asked with obvious concern. And then gamely, "Do you wanna go again?" A shiver ran through Steve. There was his answer. He was such a fool. Tony would give him everything, if Steve wanted it. Would let him do anything Steve wanted to him. Tony whispered against his hair, "Or do you have to go?"

"Oh God," Steve gasped out against the unbearable pressure in his chest, eyes burning. And surrendered.

"Whatever you want, okay?" Tony offered, drawing Steve up and closer, making a space for him beside him. They crawled into bed together and lay side by side. Steve buried his face in the crook of Tony's neck, arms wrapped around him. He wasn't leaving. Tony seemed to sense that and kept holding him through it.

Steve tangled his feet with Tony's, wanting to feel him all along his body. He threaded his hand through Tony's dark hair, the silky wisps of it curling softly against his skin. Looked into his eyes and lost himself, _found_ himself again, all in their loving depths.

"I'm staying." Steve's voice cracked. Tony held him tighter and kissed his cheeks. "I'm—"

He couldn't say more. Tony was here. Tony was holding him, and he was holding Tony. They became whole together, in the messed up bed from their earlier love-making — because that's what it had been for Steve, making love, because he should have never tried to keep himself apart from that or apart from Tony; it felt so perfectly obvious to him now. He'd been fighting himself when all he wanted was to be _with_ Tony.

He brushed his lips against Tony's and Tony's mouth opened for him and they were sharing the same breath, they were kissing. And that was tender, and then more deep and passionate. Steve tried to pour all his feelings into it. Judging from the sound Tony made when they kissed, Tony could tell. And if he didn't see yet, Steve would show him. After denying himself for so long, happiness now curled in his chest and he wanted Tony to feel it too. He'd make sure of it.

All of the love Tony felt for him was in his kiss. Steve let himself taste it, let it envelop him, as their bodies pressed together. The connection between them was intense and immediate, deeper even than making love. To the limit that it was ever possible to know another person, Steve knew Tony. Whatever he still didn't know, he wanted to know. And he wanted to be known by Tony, completely, until there were no dark corners of their hearts they still hid from one another.

Steve kept on kissing Tony, telling him with his every breath and movement of his body how much he was loved.

 

**Fin.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post](https://sheronwrites.tumblr.com/post/182170039989/cards-on-the-table-word-count-10420-fandom).


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